


Midnight

by GabbyD



Series: Desus Holiday Bingo [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Banter, Desus Holiday Bingo, First Meetings, Flirting, Grumpy Daryl Dixon, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, New Year's Eve, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 20:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12967341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GabbyD/pseuds/GabbyD
Summary: Daryl’s ready to walk through the door and spend the turn of the night on his own when a slightly tipsy man he’s never seen before walks in and plops down right next to him, with a beer in hands and his long hair in a bun.





	Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt _'New Year's Eve'_ , my second for the Desus Holiday Bingo!
> 
> And see? This time I made it happy <3

As parties go, it wasn’t the worst Daryl’s been to.

Merle used to drag him to the kind of parties where in the next day Daryl couldn’t even remember what had happened the night before, both of them waking up wherever they fell— most of the time someone’s couch or bathroom floor— with their memories hazy from the alcohol and the drugs.

Tara’s New Year’s Eve party was an improvement to all that, really, and he’s thankful for his friends.

But it’s no surprise to anyone that Daryl hates parties; they’re annoying and uncomfortable, way too crowded for his liking and full of drunk people and he’s expected to socialize with them or some shit. Most of the time he feels cornered, judged and the worst part is that, unlike with Merle, he can’t even get truly wasted to endure them because he’s a mean drunk and thus stuck on just getting buzzed.

So yeah, Daryl doesn’t like them and he’d rather be home, _thanks_. New Year’s Eve or not.

He’s only even there because Denise begged him to go so she wouldn’t be the only awkward one and, since everyone in their group of friends was going anyway— even Rick who joked Daryl had to come out of his shell more, the jackass— he went.

A decision he’s slowly coming to regret as he sits in a corner in the kitchen by himself, the only place he found where he wouldn’t get a face full of strangers drunkenly making out or go deaf with the loud music.

His friends try, and Daryl even had fun at the beginning before the other guests arrived when it was just their small group together, but they can’t be with him the entire night and different of him, they’re not unsociable rednecks who get surly around the end of the year. Or around people in general.

Daryl’s ready to walk through the door and spend the turn of the night on his own when a slightly tipsy man he’s never seen before walks in and plops down right next to him, with a beer in hands and his long hair in a bun. The guy offers him the bottle, uncaring of Daryl’s confused glare, which he accepts without fuss. Hey, free beer - he’d been done with his for a while now.

“So, do you always spend your New Year’s Eve moping on the kitchen’s floor? Is that a new tradition? Not that I’m judging mind you, I’ve been there, but there’s a party going on right now and you’re missing it out.”

“‘M not moping, and nah. Sometimes I spend it on a couch, too.” It wasn’t very funny as far as jokes went, but the other laughed anyway; his smile lightening up his whole face, and Daryl tries not to stare. He really tries. “‘Sides, I’m not into parties,” Daryl reveals with a shrug.

The guy shakes his head, clearly amused. “If you say so, dude at a party who says he doesn’t like parties.”

“Hey, you're here too, ain’t you?”

“That’s true, but maybe I just came here to give you a little company so you wouldn’t be alone when it hits midnight. Maybe I thought you deserved some cheering up, moping all by your lonesome and all,” he teases, deflecting from the question. “I’m Paul, by the way. But my friends call me Jesus.”

Daryl snorts at the nickname, before realizing he’d heard it before. “You’re Maggie’s friend, Jesus.”

He remembers her telling the group about it, some guy she met at work who she hit it off with right away and looked like the spitting image of Jesus her father used to have in his living room. Looking at him right now Daryl can see why the nickname, the resemblance was there: the long hair, the beard... the big blue eyes.

But.

“I ain’t calling you Jesus.”

The guy— _Paul_ , he had said his name was, his actual name— laughs as Daryl tells him that, a genuine laughter as if he’s having the time of his life right now sitting on the floor with a grumpy stranger.

“That’d be me, yes,” he confirms what Daryl already knew. “And that’s alright, you can call me Paul.”

Daryl nods, taking another sip of the beer and passing on the bottle. When he looks back Paul’s watching him with an unreadable look in his eyes.

He ignores it and looks away first, breaking eye contact. Shame burns inside of him as he hears Merle’s mocking voice in his head, calling him names and saying bullshit Daryl knew weren't true but took to heart anyway.

“And what about you, what can I call you?” Paul asks, tease back in his voice as he continues. “Floor Guy? Brooding Stranger?”

“Stop that, I just like bein’ alone. Nothing wrong with tha’,” he says a bit defensive.

“I hear you, lone wolf.”

Daryl flips him off half-heartedly. He _wasn't_ moping… except maybe a little. “Name’s Daryl, you prick.”

“Hmm, fits you.”

“Yeah, it's better than _Jesus,_ alright.”

“Hey, that one fits _me_ ,” Paul defends offended, but his eyes tell otherwise. He's having fun with their banter, and honestly, so is Daryl. He hasn't felt this comfortable the entire night. “Well, nice to meet you, Daryl. Even though we're on the floor.”

“You can leave at any time, y’know. Like ya said, there's a party going on and you're missing out,” Daryl tells him easy enough. “And likewise.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Daryl thought of it; he liked solitude, sure, and the guy was a bit of a prick but talking with Paul was _easy._ He found himself enjoying it more than he probably should. What were his other options, leave the party early and suffer later on the hands of his friends? Mope alone?

“Nah, it's cool. Lots of space here for two.”

“You mean on the floor,” Paul adds with humour filling his voice.

He nods, gesturing to where the other is seated. “On the floor.”

“Well, thanks. I feel right at home… on the kitchen’s floor, with my ass not at all freezing.” At Daryl’s glare he throws his hands up in surrender, chuckling. “Joking, joking! But really, why are we on the floor again?”

“Kitchen’s the only place where there ain't people eating each other's face.” Daryl shrugs. “And I didn't exactly plan on having company.”

“What, you have no one to kiss at midnight?”

Daryl ignores the question, stealing the bottle away from him before downing it and wiping his mouth with the back of his hands.

“And you?” When the other simply raises his eyebrows, he hurries to add: “Why are _you_ here?”

There's a second or two where Paul hesitates, before he lets his guard down a little. “I mean, can I be honest with you?”

“I asked, didn't I?”

“I love parties, but sometimes it can be too much for me too— people can be. I wanted to run away from it all, to breath a little,” Paul tells him a bit coy. “Then I saw you alone and I get it, you know? So I came here.” A pause, then he continues. “Doesn't hurt that you're handsome, all brooding and mysterious.”

“Fuck off,” Daryl bites, but his face is flushed red. “And you have the guts to mock me for moping.”

“Ok, ok, I'm an hypocrite. I know that. But hey, at least now you're admitting you were moping earlier. Denial isn't good for you, Daryl.”

_Oh, you have no idea._

“Screw you.”

Paul winks. “Maybe later.”

He glares again, but this time the other doesn't back away; he just faces Daryl’s glare straight on with the same unreadable look from before. Except now Daryl recognizes that look, something waking up inside of him as the puzzles come together.

Interest.

The crowd in the other room start chanting loudly, breaking the spell between them and making both stare at the door as the countdown starts. Daryl thinks he can recognize Rosita’s voice from the bundle, yelling louder than the rest.

_8… 7… 6…_

“It's almost midnight,” Paul comments mindlessly.

He nods. “Yeah.”

_5… 4… 3…_

The chanting gets fuzzy as the world seems to slow down around him, all he can focus on is Paul and Paul alone, a fight inside of him trying to decide if he should go for it or ignore what he's always known. He thinks of Pa, he thinks of Merle, but it's not enough to shame him this time. He has a life, he has _friends._ Supportive friends who love him despite everything and are like family to him. Everything is different now, he's left that life long ago, pulled away by Rick and the others.

Pa’s not there, _Merle’s_ not there.

_2… 1…_

But Paul is.

The other turns to him, a small smile on his face as the others outside scream excitedly when the countdown reaches an end. The beginning of something new. “Happy New Years, Daryl.”

And Daryl thinks _screw it_ and kisses him, fireworks going off in the distance as if on cue.

Ok, so maybe parties aren't so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't forget to leave kudos and comments if you liked it, as they feed the author's hungry soul! <3 You can find me @ remuslupinsmiled on tumblr, please feel free to talk to me at anytime!
> 
> Happy New Year's, y'all <3 (AND YES IT'S STILL DECEMBER)


End file.
